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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994248">In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, doesn't realize they've been injured</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:46:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It slipped in without notice, padding through the kitchen. Getting coffee and toast, and a little extra something. Malcolm gains an addition that isn't good for him.</p><p>For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Doesn't Realize They've Been Injured.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo &amp; Malcolm Bright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TheFandomChic">TheFandomChic</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>'cause clearly i was trying to choose the shortest title i've ever written ::cough:: no</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It slipped in without notice, padding through the kitchen. Getting coffee and toast, and a little extra something. Feeding Sunshine apples and pellets, cleaning and refilling her water dish. Head bopping along with her, smiling before he left for work.</p><p>The little things kept him happy under the surface: knowing he could help someone else, bantering with his coworkers come friends, having Sunshine to return home to. Smirks slid in when the team ribbed him for being overzealous or doing something silly. Grins followed when they went for drinks, Malcolm learning everyone's favorite order. A soft upturn that reached his eyes fit on top of the pile when Sunshine rested in his hands. No matter his outer shell, the sentiment was always inside.</p><p>Home - work. Home - work. Home - work. Home - work. The stowaway was the most traveled it had been since riding on a delivery truck across country. Nestled in tight, it was in for the long haul, under the radar wrapped in with smirks and grins.</p><p>Walking into the precinct, each step was…weird. At his desk, he took off his shoe and peeled back his sock, but didn't see anything. He ran his thumb along his heel, yet nothing felt out of place.</p><p>"No wonder it smells in here." JT popped the back of his chair.</p><p>"Sorry - thought I mighta stepped on something," Malcolm explained, returning his sock and shoe.</p><p>JT shook his head in mock protest, and Malcolm passed by him to go wash his hands.</p>
<hr/><p>The passenger was still undetected by the host after several days. Not showing any symptoms, Malcolm was the ultimate carrier. If it had been a biological weapon, they all would have been doomed.</p><p>A sprinkle of ricin, a touch of anthrax spores, a drop of Ebola, and Malcolm would have been dead. But he was very much alive with energy, striding through the precinct.</p><p>“Are you limping?” Gil asked when Malcolm crossed the floor to his desk.</p><p>"No.” Malcolm shook his head.</p><p>"You're walking funny." Gil pointed at his feet.</p><p>"Must be the spring in my step 'cause I have an update for you on the profile." A smile emerged to the surface and he started a spiel on the murderer’s penchant for pinstripe widths on ties used to bind victims at two scenes.</p><p>Gil wasn't convinced, yet he let him prattle on. They were making progress on the case; whatever Gil had seen didn’t seem to be dragging Malcolm down.</p>
<hr/><p>A few days later, Malcolm spent most of the day at the conference table piecing together witness descriptions. He got up to update Gil, and the first step on his heel crumpled him over the table. "Fucking shit," seeped through his teeth, his head bent.</p><p>Spots turned to smaller dots turned to unseeing, his eyes closed, breathing into the table.</p><p>JT got past his chuckle over the expletive and reached for his friend. "Back to the chair." JT leaned him into the seat.</p><p>Malcolm pulled his knee up to his chest, cradling the throbbing limb. Pain radiated out from his foot, beating his body into submission.</p><p>"What's wrong?" JT prompted, unsure what he could have done merely standing.</p><p>Malcolm bit through the pulsing that threatened his hearing. “My foot." It was playing an ungodly uptempo version of the hard rock bridge of <em>Bohemian Rhapsody</em>; he was being stoned.</p><p>"Let's get the shoe off." JT moved to start on the laces, yet Malcolm pushed his hand away and completed the action.</p><p>"Sure, now you don't mind my bare feet in the office,” Malcolm complained, removing his shoe and sock.</p><p>He started to bend to see why his foot was on fire when Dani returned with Gil in tow. “What happened?” Gil asked, surveying the room.</p><p>"Nothing," Malcolm dismissed. Hell if he knew what lit him up.</p><p>"Foot's hot and red," JT observed, Malcolm jumping from JT’s touch at the back of his ankle.</p><p>"Can you get the spare crutches?" Gil requested of Dani.</p><p>Gil looked between Malcolm’s foot and the grimace on his face. He’d need a chisel to get a smile to the surface.</p><p>"Seriously Bright - what happened?" Gil reprompted, hands dropping to his hips in frustration, concern, frustration.</p><p>"I don't know. I got up, and now I have a problem." He pulled his ankle toward his face, finally getting a look at his angry foot. Beyond red, he still didn’t really see anything. He tapped at it with his finger until JT warned him, "You're just gonna make it worse."</p><p>Dani came back with the crutches and Gil collected Malcolm’s shoe and sock. “Let’s go to urgent care,” Gil instructed, guiding him out of the conference room.</p><p>A drive he knew all too well.</p>
<hr/><p>"Like a thorn in your side that couldn't be forced out," the doctor had said.</p><p>Yet a toothpick. In his heel. That he'd been carrying around for who knew how long. That they'd coaxed out with anesthetic, hydrogen peroxide, tweezers, and a lot of poking around. The doctor had held the sliver of wood up proudly, telling him he should feel a lot better now. A course of antibiotics was the only piece that remained.</p><p>"You had that, in your <em>foot</em>, for at least a week?” Gil replied in disbelief when Malcolm recounted the story.</p><p>Malcolm shrugged and continued to the car.</p><p>“How did you not feel something like that under your skin?” Gil prodded, not understanding how he could have been so dense.</p><p>"Drawbacks of high pain tolerance?" Malcolm surmised. It had barely caused him any discomfort. Position, he guessed. Apparently it was a family common injury, according to the doctor. Though he was older than the typical patient.</p><p>Malcolm had said he hadn’t felt a thing until he <em>really</em> felt it, but Gil didn’t entirely buy it. He'd seen him walking a bit different, a bit...weirder. “Get in,” he opened the door to the car, waiting to take the crutches and close it behind him.</p><p>Malcolm slipped out at his doorway, hobbling up the stairs to the loft - home, Sunshine, smile, <em>tweet</em>.</p><p>He'd wear slippers around the loft for a little while.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>fin</em>
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